softly, sweetheart
by Becks Rylynn
Summary: 'I would rewrite the universe for you, though,' he says. It's a romantic and touching statement, she thinks, and there's that little tug in her chest, small smile forming on her lips. But then she laughs. 'Oh please,' she says, voice muffled by the toothpaste foam. 'You wouldn't even give me the last cookie at dinner.'


**AN: I decided to pop in on the Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance from the universe next door for an anon on tumblr who asked for something to make up for the Arrow series finale. I am happy to report that they're doing just fine. :)))**

**A note before reading: This story is...somewhat related to my ongoing Dean/Laurel multi chapter fic ''How the Light Gets In'' except that, obviously, this takes place on another earth. But it is still sort of technically within that canon. It's not at all necessary to read that to understand this, but one bit of information that could be useful here is that in HTLGI, Dean and Laurel have a daughter who was born with something called Pendred syndrome. Because of that, she has lost all hearing in her right ear. She can still hear and carry on conversations and she's an excellent lip reader, but they have also, as a family, employed the use of sign language for communication.**

**(Small warning: Uh... Here there be shade.)**

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**softly, sweetheart**

_Written by Becks Rylynn_

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_listen: there's a hell of a good universe next door; let's go  
_**\- e.e. cummings.**

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**Meanwhile, on Earth-52**

Laurel clicks off the television, a deep frown marring her face. ''Well, that was...'' She pauses, blinking, struggling for the right words to describe the complete and utter mess she just watched. ''Disappointing.'' She crosses her arms, tapping her pointer finger against her arm as she tries to sort through her feelings of dissatisfaction. What an underwhelming and badly written way to end a long running television series. She eventually decides on, ''Yikes.'' But then, almost immediately, ''Actually, no.'' She shakes her head. ''Not even worth a yikes. It was just..._yike._ One yike.'' She leans over to put the remote control on her bedside drawer, grabbing her phone instead. She needs to text Jess about this.

Wait, no.

She can't text Jess about this. She just had a baby two weeks ago. And Joanna's on her honeymoon in France. And poor Sara's stuck working the night shift at the hospital for the next few weeks so she's out.

Ugh, but then she has no one else to talk to about this. None of her other friends watch this stupid show. Adrian straight up told her it was a trash show. Which -

Fair.

But rude.

Terrible way to talk to your boss too, even if she is one of your oldest friends.

Good thing she has a husband. He has to listen to her talk about her crappy television shows and he definitely has to listen to all her meaningless rants. She's pretty sure it was in the vows. She always listens to him when he rants. The other day, she listened to him go on a rant about plastic straws while he was driving her to work. And then an even longer rant about how the plastic straw ban is ableist and classist.

It was a very well formed argument - of course it was, he's a journalist, he's great at words - but she was just trying to drink her coffee.

''If I died,'' she muses out loud, ''would you kill yourself, abandon our kids, and act like it was some grand romantic gesture?''

No answer.

''Dean?'' She looks over at her husband only to find him fast asleep, lying on his side with his back to her. ''Babe,'' she whispers. ''Babe, wake up.'' She kicks at him - _lightly_ \- under the covers. Once, then twice, and he jerks awake with a startled grunt.

He bolts upright, looking around the room, wild eyed and disoriented. ''What? What's wrong?'' His eyes lock onto hers. ''Did your water break?''

She looks at him for a long time. Then she looks down at her flat stomach. Then back up to him. ''Haven't been pregnant in years,'' she says slowly. ''So... No?''

''Oh,'' he nods. ''Good. Good.'' He relaxes, rubbing at his face, still groggy. ''…What?''

''If I died,'' she repeats slowly, ''would you kill yourself, abandon the kids, and frame it as an act of true love and romance?''

Dean removes his hands from his face to look at her, nose wrinkled in confusion and possibly dismay. ''...What?''

''Okay, I need you to stop saying _what._''

''No, I wouldn't - '' He makes a face somewhere between disgusted and horrified. ''What the fuck? Okay, wait. Wait. Is this about that migraine you had the other day?'' He snakes his hand around her waist to rub at her back. ''Baby, I told you, it's not a tumor.''

She rolls her eyes fondly. ''My show,'' she clarifies. ''That's how it ended.''

He blows out a breath and flops back down. ''Great message,'' he mumbles. ''Isn't that show marketed toward teens?''

''That's what I'm saying,'' she yelps. ''It's a horrible message to send to young people, especially young women. Just go ahead and kill yourself for a man - not even a good man.'' She shakes her head again, disgusted. ''It was unsettling the way they handled that. As someone with legitimate mental health diagnoses, I'm horrified. Frankly, I'm appalled. Whoever wrote that has no business being a writer of anything meant for young people. That neckbeard is going to do serious damage. Romanticizing suicide like that is harmful and irresponsible and - are you asleep again?''

He blinks open his eyes and looks back up at her. ''...No?''

She raises an eyebrow.

''A little bit,'' he allows.

''You're a writer. You should have more of an opinion on this.''

''Did your show deal with the climate crisis?''

''...No.''

''Can't help you. That's where my focus is right now. Hey, you wanna talk about environmentalism in fiction - or, rather, the lack thereof? I'm there. But I don't typically cover television shows or other entertainment subjects. Or fiction in general. Definitely not comic books.''

''Don't be pretentious,'' she says. ''And don't pretend you wrote that profile on Jane Fonda and her Fire Drill Fridays solely because you admire her activism when I know a little piece of you did it because of Barbarella.''

''I will have you know,'' he says, ''that Jane Fonda is a lovely, gracious, highly intelligent, and scarily competent woman who uses her platform and her privilege to actually do some real good in this world. Or at least to attempt to do some good. Which is more than most people can say for themselves. That shit is inspiring.'' A beat. ''And, also, yeah, she can still get it.''

''You're making me jealous,'' she deadpans. ''I mean, you spent a whole weekend in DC with her. You were at her home. Things got personal. You were arrested together. Who knows what could have happened?''

He laughs a little. ''It was an interview. I've also interviewed Amal Clooney. Were you jealous of her?''

''Honey, I love you, but no one is leaving George Clooney for you.''

''Okay, well – ''

''And Amal Clooney was not Barbarella.''

''True.'' He laughs again, a warm, tired rumble, and reaches out to grab onto her leg. ''Listen, Laur, I'm with you,'' he says. ''It's bad writing. Romanticizing suicide is bullshit and dangerous - especially on a network geared toward teenagers. But it was a garbage dump of a show from start to finish. You and I both know that. Were you really expecting something different in the eleventh hour?''

''I don't know,'' she shrugs. ''I thought they might try for once. You know, give the show a satisfying end. It's the _end._ If there was ever a time to make an effort, that was it.''

''Yes, but why would they bother? They have been freely skating along, giddily half assing it, and it's worked out for them the entire time. Why shake things up at the finish line? You know what would be worse? If the show was good for years, then went balls to the walls batshit during the last years, and then choked _majorly_ and fumbled at the finish line. That would be worse.''

''I guess.''

''Why don't you call Jess? She watches this show, right? And she works for the E! Channel. I bet she knows people who know people. She could probably get you in touch with the writer and you could call him and give him a piece of your mind.''

''...That's harassment.''

''Nah. Investigative journalism.''

''I'm a lawyer, not a journalist. And, anyway, Sam and Jess have a newborn. I don't think they'd appreciate me calling at eleven thirty to talk about a stupid CW show.'' She leans back against the headboard, crossing her arms again, and he throws his arm up over his face, likely to hide the fact that he has closed his eyes again. ''You can't very well lecture me about garbage television, you know,'' she points out, after a beat. ''You watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians.''

He doesn't move his arm, but she can practically _hear_ him blushing. ''I do not watch...'' He trails off, moving his arm, squinting up at her oddly, as if he's seeing her for the first time. ''What's goin' on with your face?''

''It's a face mask.''

''You're doing a face mask without me?''

''Well, you fell asleep.''

''Yeah, 'cause that show sucks.''

''I see what you're doing, Dean Winchester,'' she points an accusatory finger at him. ''We've been together for ten years, mister, you really think I'm going to let you get away with that? You're trying to change the subject from your weird thing for the Kardashians and their fake drama.''

He releases a sigh and reluctantly heaves himself back up into a sitting position, clearing his throat. She thinks, for a moment, he's going to deny that he watches trashy reality television. He does not. ''Kourtney carried that show on her back for years with all her Scott drama,'' he says instead, emphasizing this with a dramatic point. ''The woman pulled a child out of her vagina _on camera._ And now they want to act like she's done nothing for them?''

Laurel stares at him.

Dean stares back.

There is a stalemate for a moment, with both of them staring at each other, and then she shakes her head. ''I see I've opened a can of really shallow worms here.''

''Kim doesn't share shit about her life with Kanye - ''

''Dean - ''

''And Khloe's cheating scandal was entirely scripted - ''

''Honey - ''

''But Kourtney's the one who needs to shape up just because she wants some privacy to raise her kids?''

''Oh god, this is EightPackMommy all over again.''

''The _audacity!_''

She leans over to kiss his cheek, careful not to smudge any clay mask on his face. ''I'm going to get ready for bed,'' she says, throwing back the covers and dragging herself out of the comfort of their warm and cozy bed. ''You just keep venting, sweetie. Let it out. It's not healthy to keep all that inside.''

''Don't even get me started on EightPackMommy,'' he calls after her as she heads into the en suite bathroom, flicking on the light. ''She's so obnoxious. Always bragging about how she used cloth diapers and made her own baby food and ate her placenta - ''

''Ew.''

''And her recipes suck.''

She chuckles to herself, turning on the faucet to rinse off her mask. He does not, thankfully, go off on another forty-five minute long rant about EightPackMommy. Which is a relief because she has heard that rant so many times over the past few months. He's still bitter about those vegan, gluten free brownies he made for Thanksgiving turning out like dry crumbs that tasted like nothing. She would like to think that she is a wonderfully supportive wife, but she can only hear the rant about that particular mommy blogger so many times. Just like he can only hear her complain about that show so many times, she supposes.

She rinses off the clay mask in peace, listening to him moving around in the bedroom, and she has just shoved her toothbrush in her mouth when he appears in the doorway, propping his arm up against the doorjamb.

''Okay, I've thought about it,'' he declares. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't take the toothbrush out of her mouth, gesturing for him to continue. ''I wouldn't commit suicide if you died,'' he says. ''Might think about it briefly in the throes of grief because that - that would suck, and who would get the mail in the mornings - ''

She snorts.

'' - But we have children and they need me,'' he says firmly. ''I'd stay with them.'' He smiles at her, clearly very proud of himself, and she tries not to laugh and choke on her toothpaste. ''I would rewrite the universe for you, though,'' he says.

It's a romantic and touching statement, she thinks, and there's that little tug in her chest, small smile forming on her lips. But then she laughs. ''Oh please,'' she says, voice muffled by the toothpaste foam. ''You wouldn't even give me the last cookie at dinner.''

Dean remains unapologetic about that. ''Well, it had caramel and pecahns in it.''

''Oh god,'' she spits the toothpaste into the sink. ''Don't say pecans like that. You know I hate that.''

''Pecahn.''

''Ugh,'' she cringes, reaching for her hand towel. ''Seriously, nails on a chalkboard.''

_''Pecahn.''_

She whips the towel at him, snagging him with the end of it. ''Quit it.''

He just grins at her.

She shakes her head at him again, but cannot quite manage to hide the smile on her face. When she reaches for her serums and moisturizer, all the lotions and potions that make up her nightly skincare routine, he still doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. Doesn't crawl back in bed to go back to sleep. Doesn't even crack a joke about the amount of steps her routine has. Just stays right where he is, quietly watching her, keeping her company. It's not unusual. It can be hard to find time together with three young kids and busy careers. They have learned to take what they can get. ''I knew you were paying attention to my show,'' she says.

''You do talk about it a lot,'' he reminds her. ''Hey, speaking of...'' He waits until she's done with her hydrating serum and her vitamin c oil drops, until she's patted them on and placed them back in the cabinet, before he inches closer to her and moves his hands to her hips. ''Now that it's over,'' he murmurs, ducking his head down to talk into her ear. ''Does this mean you're going to stop ranting about it every week?''

''Shut up,'' she laughs. ''I'm passionate.'' She turns around in his hold, slipping her arms up and around his neck. ''You love my passion.''

''I do love your passion,'' he says, leaning down to catch her lips in his. ''Fiery,'' he mumbles against her lips. ''Intense.'' He kisses her again, too briefly in her opinion, and then pulls away slightly. ''Sometimes when you got so mad at the show, you jumped me to distract yourself.''

Laurel lets out what can only be described as a startled yelp of laughter before burying her face in his shoulder.

He laughs warmly and she can feel the rumble of it. ''I didn't mind that,'' he admits. ''I'll miss that. Spite sex was _wild._''

''DAD!''

Aw, mood killer, no.

Both parents tense up at the shout that comes from somewhere down the hall.

''Daddy!'' The same squeaky, frustrated voice calls. ''Sin dropped my toothbrush in the toilet!''

''It was an accident,'' comes another yell.

Dean huffs. ''Why is it,'' he drawls out slowly, thoughtfully, ''that when they call you, it's because they want to show you their new secret handshake or make you avocado toast, but when they call me, it's _Dad! Sin dropped my toothbrush in the toilet!_ Or - _Dad! The baby farted on my pillow and I'm scared I'm gonna get pink eye!_ For real, why is that?''

''Take it as a sign of trust,'' Laurel advises, reluctantly pulling herself out of his arms. ''It means they feel safe with you.''

''Yeah, yeah,'' he grumbles, ''whatever you say. Do you remember when we went on vacation to Maui last year and nobody fought and it was just six glorious days of peace? Let's go back to that.''

''Three out of five of us got food poisoning on the flight home.''

''Well, I didn't say it was perfect.''

''Come on,'' she turns him around, hands on his shoulders. ''I'll back you up.''

They both step into the hallway and it takes only seconds for them to be ambushed by an anxious golden retriever who looks about ready to drag them down the hallway himself if they don't start paying attention to what's going on. ''Good boy, Zepp,'' Laurel murmurs, rubbing the dog's head soothingly as she passes by. ''We've got it handled from here.''

Zepp still trails after them, trotting down the hallway with them to where Mary and Sin are having their standoff. Mary looks angry, even with a yorkie asleep in her arms, head on her shoulder, and Sin looks like a deer-in-headlights, clearly not expecting the level of vitriol aimed at her. They're both talking over each other, jumbled and disconnected, cranky because it's late, working themselves up completely unnecessarily.

You know. Sister stuff.

''Hey!'' Dean steps in between them immediately, and both girls instantly stop talking, practically snapping their jaws shut. ''What's going on here?'' He asks, and dead silence follows for a long moment. Neither girl seems ready to speak up. They both seem sufficiently cowed by the appearance of the Dad Voice.

That only lasts for about a minute.

''Mary pushed me!''

''Sin dropped my _TOOTHBRUSH_ in the _TOILET!_''

''It was an accident!''

''No, it wasn't! You did it on purpose!''

''No, I didn't! I swear! Why would I do it on purpose?''

''I don't know, but you did!''

''Okay, _okay_.'' Dean puts both arms out, keeping them apart. ''I get you both have strong feelings,'' he says, signing along with his words so Mary can keep up, ''but you need to calm down before you wake up your brother. His bedroom is right there and you know he's sick. He needs his sleep right now.''

They both mumble out apologies, but still look miserable.

Laurel opts to go for her oldest first. ''Sin - ''

''I didn't mean to,'' Sin blurts out instantly. ''I had to go to the bathroom but it was really dark and I knocked over her toothbrush when I was washing my hands and it fell and I tried to catch it but I couldn't and it went in the toilet.''

''Okay,'' Laurel nods, ''all right, well, it sounds like it was an accident.''

''It was,'' Sin insists. ''That's what I keep telling her.''

''It wasn't - '' Mary's complaint dies in her throat when Dean throws her a sharp, parental look that says, in no uncertain terms, _Can it, young lady._

''Next time, just turn on the light when you go to the bathroom,'' Laurel says gently. ''It's always okay to turn on the light. You're not going to get in trouble.''

''See, there you go,'' Dean says to Mary. _It was an accident,_ he signs. _That's all._ ''No need to seethe,'' he says out loud, to both girls, ''and absolutely no reason at all,'' his voice turns firmer, directed at Mary, ''to push your sister. I know it sucks and I understand why you're upset, but that doesn't mean you get to be violent. That shouldn't ever be your first thought. Especially not with your sister.''

''And there are extra toothbrushes under the sink,'' Laurel adds on.

Mary's eyes widen. ''There are?''

Laurel nods. ''Always.''

Mary's cheeks redden slightly. ''Oh.''

''And if you don't like those, we can go out and get you and new one tomorrow.''

''Really?''

''Really. It's not a big deal.''

''Everything's cool, honeybee,'' Dean says, tossing her a quick, easy smile. ''You gotta chill a little here, kid.''

Mary sighs and turns to hide her face in Furby's fur. The yorkie is still, predictably, as usual, asleep on her shoulder. ''I don't want to get cavities,'' she admits softly. '' 'Cause then I'll have to go to the dentist and he talks too quiet and then I can't hear him.''

Dean nods his head, reaching out to rub her back. ''Dr. Miller's a bit of a mumbler, isn't he?''

''And then he gets mad when I can't hear him,'' she complains. ''Like it's my fault. And he doesn't like when I sign.''

Laurel watches her husband narrow his eyes at that, jaw clenching. He stays silent, still rubbing Mary's back, but she can see him trying to restrain himself from going off.

_It's not your fault you can't hear him,_ she signs to Mary. _Nobody should ever make you feel bad for signing. You know that, right?_

Mary nods, but goes right back to nuzzling Furby.

''I don't like the dentist either,'' Sin says. ''Nancy smells.''

It gets a giggle out of Mary.

Laurel tries to be serious, holding back her own laughter and at least attempting a reprimand. ''Sin.''

Dean doesn't even try. ''Eh, it's true, she does,'' he says. ''It's like she swims in a pool of Chanel before work. Instant headache as soon as you walk into the office.''

''Well, maybe we need to talk about changing dentists,'' Laurel suggests.

''It's a plan,'' he nods. ''Because apparently Dr. Miller's an ableist fucker - ''

_''Dean.''_

'' - Who slid right past my radar. Little weasel. But,'' he adds on quickly. ''It's a plan that Mom and I will talk about tomorrow. Right now, it's late and you two need to be in bed. You have school tomorrow.''

Mary groans loudly.

''Yeah, yeah.'' He ruffles her hair. ''I know.'' He crouches down between her and Sin. ''All right,'' he says, seriously, pulling Mary a little closer to him so she can hear him. ''Anything you need to say to each other?''

There is a pause as both girls look at each other, and then Mary says, softly, sounding very earnest in her regret, ''I'm really sorry I pushed you.''

''I'm sorry I dropped your toothbrush in the toilet,'' Sin responds.

Mary nods and then pulls Furby off her shoulder, holding the groggy and now very, very annoyed yorkie out to Sin. ''You wanna sleep with Furby tonight?''

Furby looks around desperately, whining softly like a fussy baby.

Sin instantly shrinks away from the furry little thing, backing into Laurel.

''Oh, uh,'' Dean cuts in quickly, standing and scooping up Furby, letting the weird yorkie that seems to honestly believe it is a human infant doze against his shoulder. ''I think she's okay. It's her night with Sharkie tonight, right?'' Nods all around. ''Yeah, she's all good then.'' He looks at Sin. ''Right?''

She nods emphatically. Sin adores their dogs, really, she does. She was the one who advocated the most for getting little Furby. Made a whole presentation and everything.

(Dean was the only one who was not in favor. He thought three pets was more than enough. He is also, coincidentally, the one who spoils the tiny thing the most. Which Laurel knew was going to happen because she knows he misses babies and Furby has turned out to basically be a permanent baby.)

Usually, during homework time, Furby curls up in Sin's lap. But she really doesn't like the dogs in her room at night. Either of them. She doesn't even like the bunny or the fish in her room at night. Just the idea makes her skittish. They've never been able to get a straight answer out of her as to why that is, but for whatever reason, it triggers her anxiety so it's a no go.

''But it's a really nice offer, Mary,'' he says, handing Furby back over to Mary before putting on a big smile and addressing everyone. ''Pancakes tomorrow morning? Everyone in agreement?''

Mary asks, ''With blueberries?''

''Of course.''

''And chocolate chips?''

''Might have to put a pin in that one,'' he says. ''I'm not sure we have chocolate chips.''

''Mine has to be gluten free,'' Sin reminds him. ''But can I put whipped cream on them?''

''I know, and yes, you can. C'mere,'' he crooks his finger at her, beckoning her over to him. He bends down to brush a kiss to her cheek. ''You have a good sleep, sunshine,'' he whispers. ''I'll have the pancakes waiting for you when you wake up. With a whole mountain of whipped cream. Sound good?''

She smiles. ''Yes, good.''

''Awesome.'' He winks at her and then turns back to Mary. ''All right, pumpkin, how about we get Furby back to bed. She looks tired.''

''Okay. Zepp,'' Mary calls, ''come on, let's go to bed!''

Zepp, curled up at Laurel's feet, jumps to his feet, wagging his tail excitedly.

Dean and Laurel, unfortunately for him, put the kibosh on that right away.

''No, Zepp,'' Laurel orders. ''Sit down. Stay.''

''That's a nice try,'' Dean says, leading Mary away, ''but you know Zepp sleeps in his own bed.''

''Awww.''

Laurel calls out a quick, ''Night, Mary, love you.'' She waits until Dean and Mary have disappeared into her room before she reaches down to scratch behind Zepp's ears. ''Good boy,'' she murmurs. ''Sorry you're missing out on Mary cuddles.'' She pats him on the head. ''Bedtime now, buddy. Go find your bed,'' she encourages. He seems a little bummed about it, but still dutifully trots off to go find his bed. He's a good boy.

She looks back to Sin, still standing there, looking worried, and wringing her hands nervously. Laurel lets out a breath and bends down to wrap her arms around her daughter from behind. ''What about you?'' She asks. ''Ready for bed?'' A semi reluctant nod. ''Okay, come on.''

She gets Sin back into her bedroom, all comfy and cozy in her bed with her blankets and pillows, she makes sure she has water and that her alarm is set, but the little girl still looks upset. It's not unexpected.

Laurel sits on the edge of the bed, tucking the blankets in around her, trying not to fuss over her too much. ''You okay?''

Sin shrugs her shoulders. She pulls Sharkie into her arms, running her fingers over the stuffed animal's soft fur. ''I didn't mean to knock her toothbrush in the toilet.''

''I know, Sin.''

''But Mary was really mad at me.''

Laurel sighs. ''She was,'' she allows. ''But... She wasn't.''

''I don't get it.''

''Mary's having a hard time with school right now,'' Laurel says softly. And apparently their dentist is a prick. Didn't see that one coming. ''Sometimes when people get stressed out, they take it out on the people closest to them. Which isn't fair or nice, but... It happens sometimes.'' Gently, she tucks a strand of Sin's dark hair behind her ear and cups her face. ''Mary loves you,'' she assures her. ''You know that, right? You two are best friends.''

''Yeah,'' Sin says, but she still looks like she's worrying. She does that. Especially when she thinks she's done something wrong, something that could end in a punishment. Even something as innocuous as accidentally knocking her sister's toothbrush in the toilet. ''I can use my allowance to buy her a new toothbrush,'' she suggests, brightening up.

''Well, that is very sweet of you.'' Laurel draws her hand back. ''But it's not necessary. Daddy and I can buy her a toothbrush.''

Sin chews on her lip thoughtfully.

''Sin, look at me,'' Laurel says, taking her hand. ''It was an accident and it's not a big deal. You didn't mean to do it and Mary knows that. I promise.'' She squeezes her hand. ''Okay?''

Finally, Sin relents - at least a little. ''Okay.''

Laurel smiles. That'll have to be good enough for now. She leans down to envelop her in a hug and Sin hugs back ferociously. ''I love you.''

''Love you too.''

''You want me to lay with you until you fall asleep?''

''No,'' Sin pulls back, burrowing deeper into her blankets. ''That's okay.''

''You sure?''

''Yeah. I'm ten now.''

''Oh my god, you are,'' Laurel laughs. ''I can't believe that. All right,'' she leans down to kiss her forehead. ''You have a good night's sleep, sweet girl. Don't forget: Daddy's pancakes in the morning.''

''With whipped cream,'' Sin says, finally grinning.

''Extra whipped cream,'' Laurel agrees. She shoots Sin one last smile before she slips out of the room, closing the door behind her. She means to go check on the baby - who isn't really a baby anymore, oh god, all her kids are growing up way too fast - to make sure he's doing okay and to check his fever, but when she looks over at his door, Dean's already slipping into the room. She peeks in on Mary quickly, just long enough to wave and blow a kiss as she's settling down for the night.

With nothing else to do, she heads back to the master bedroom. Zepp has taken up residence in the corner by the laundry hamper. Brought his bed in from the office where he's supposed to sleep and everything, curled up halfway on his dog bed and halfway on an old worn flannel of Dean's, and she doesn't have the heart to tell him to move. She never does. He tends to wind up in their bedroom more often than not, despite their insistence, once upon a time, that they were not going to be ''those people.''

No idea what they were thinking when they made that foolish declaration, really. Of course they're those people. They have always been those people.

She steps back into the bathroom, rifling around in the cabinet for her eye cream and night cream. Sometimes, during this nightly ritual of hers, she thinks of, as strange as it sounds, her father. When she was a kid, she would sit in her parents' bedroom and watch her mother get ready. Watch her smooth on moisturizer, paint on makeup, and no matter what she was doing, whether she was getting ready to go out, to go to bed, to leave for work, Dad would always come bounding into the room and tell her mother that she didn't need all that ''crap.''

''Still the most beautiful woman in the room, D,'' he'd wink. ''Doesn't matter how old you get.''

Her mother would always laugh and give him a kiss. She never changed her routines, but she always blushed.

If he could see her now, standing at her sink, slathering on all these different creams and serums and whatnot, he would tell her, ''Age happens whether we want it to or not, baby girl. Don't waste your life chasing after youth. That boy's gonna love you with or without a few wrinkles.''

He would be right.

She misses her father. It has been almost ten years since he passed and she still thinks about him all the time. Still misses him so fiercely. She wonders what he would think of her. If he would be proud of the woman she's become. He would love his grandkids, she knows that, and they would adore him right back. She wishes so much that they could have met him. The kids love the grandparents they have and, though they may have been subpar parents, John and Mary Winchester are wonderful grandparents. She's grateful to them for that every day, even with the bits of tension that still remain between Dean and his parents, but...

Her father would have been amazing as a grandfather.

Laurel finishes up in the bathroom, pulling off her hairband and quickly running a brush through her newly short hair before she flicks off the light, smoothing on some hand cream as she makes her way around the bed to her side. She's just gotten under the covers and put on some chapstick when the bedroom door opens and Dean appears, with their chunky two and a half year old in his arms, looking miserable and sniffly.

''Look who's awake,'' he says, and the little boy lifts his head off his dad's shoulder to wave pitifully.

''Hi, Mama,'' he greets.

''Hi, Henry.'' Her lips pull back into a soft smile. ''Did your sisters wake you up?''

He nods, burying his face in his dad's shoulder. ''They were fightin','' he mumbles out, and then proceeds to wipe his nose all over Dean's poor shirt.

Dean cringes and closes his eyes, but just goes with it.

''They were,'' she agrees, holding her arms out. ''Come here, baby bear.'' Henry is carefully transferred into her arms, along with his little bear lovey and his blankie. ''How are you feeling?''

''I think his fever finally broke,'' Dean says, putting Henry's sippy cup of water on his bedside table before he gets back into bed.

She feels Henry's forehead with the back of her hand. Sure enough, he is not as warm as he was earlier. Certainly not burning up the way he was last night. ''Well, that's a good sign,'' she grins at him, leaning down to brush her nose against his. ''You still feeling yucky?''

He sniffles loudly, nodding.

''Yeah?'' She clicks her tongue in sympathy, smoothing his hair back, feeling his forehead again. ''You need anything? What about snuggles?''

''Yeah,'' he sniffles again, and then coughs - without covering his mouth. ''Snuggles with Mama.'' He droops against her the second she lies down, scooting as close to her as possible, head on her chest. ''I like snuggles,'' he says, shoving his icy cold little hand up her shirt just so he can feel her skin. ''Bear like snuggles too.'' He holds his bear lovey close to his chest and then, after a moment or two, starts gnawing on its head.

Laurel is going to let that one go for now. They're trying to curb the oral fixation thing he's got going on because he's been slobbering all over the pillows on the living room couch lately and he tried to gnaw at a table leg the other day and it was...weird, but it gives him some kind of comfort and the poor kid's been so sick. He can chew on whatever he wants right now. It'll be fine.

''I like snuggles too,'' she says, curling her arms around him. She glances over at Dean, sitting up in bed, eyes on his phone. ''Daddy, come snuggle with us.''

Without looking up from his phone, he reaches a hand out and just sort of...rubs Henry's head.

''Dean,'' she says, using her Mom Voice. ''I said come snuggle with us.''

He finally looks up from what he's doing - which is, without a single doubt, leaving an extremely strongly worded Yelp review for Dr. Miller. He softens as soon as he lays eyes on his wife and son. He puts the phone down. ''I'm always down for snuggling,'' he says, moving closer to them, curling around Henry from the other side. ''I'm easy like that.''

She swallows down a snort and has to dip her head down, burying it in her son's blanket to hide her laughter. In turn, Henry giggles into her hair for no reason other than she's laughing. She's beaming at him when she pulls back, listening to him laugh. ''You know,'' she says, while she listens to her son's laugh, knowing her daughters are safe and fast asleep in their rooms. ''I don't think I'd rewrite this universe,'' she says, looking over at Dean. ''I don't think I'd want anyone else to either. Not even for a perfect world.''

''No?''

''No,'' she says, untangling one hand from Henry to reach over to Dean, running her fingers through his hair. ''It's a nice gesture and all, but I've got everything I need right here. This is pretty perfect, don't you think?''

And then, right on cue, Henry sneezes all over her chest.

She freezes.

Dean raises his eyebrows.

''I still mean it,'' she hurries to say. ''Even with the sneezes. Even if I get the plague. This is still the right world for us. Here is the only place I want to be, love.''

He chuckles warmly. ''It's a hell of a good universe,'' he agrees, catching her hand before she pulls it away. ''Happy to be here with you, pretty bird.'' He threads his fingers through hers and brings her hand close, kissing the back of it gently. ''Always.''

.

.

.

**end**

* * *

**AN: EightPackMommy is a mommy blogger who Dean canonically follows and rants about and I'm never ever letting go of that piece of canon and will, in fact, shout from the rooftops forever that Dean Winchester follows mommy bloggers for their recipes.**

**Title comes from the song/poem ''Sanoe'' by Queen Lili'uokalani (also known as Lydia Kamakaeha)**


End file.
